Conversation

This Is How We Do It

The crow

Jamaica is called “the most homophobic place on earth,” and Jamaican men from Kingston who listen to dancehall music are the most homophobic group, actually it’s some of our favourite dancehall artists who incite and encourage hatred and violence. The situation is both depressing and dangerous, because we love Jamaican men and Kingston and dancehall music, but we are not entirely loved back. These men might murder you if they even think you are gay, Dylan has already been threatened several times. The problem runs deep in the culture, it’s deplorable and sad. I wish we knew how to help or what to do, without either of us getting hurt or killed.

Yesterday Dylan wore a baseball hat, and everything changed. Suddenly everybody was warm and friendly and kind. The lesson it seems is do not underestimate the power of a ball cap. At the grocery store, I met a group of girls from California. They gave me vague and secret smiles. Their friend came running up holding aloft something big and green and wrapped in plastic. “Guess what I found,” she sang out as her girlfriends gathered around. “KALE!” she squealed. The California girls linked arms and cheered. An amusing and adorable small taste of home, life every day, everywhere, and in all moments, is filled with such strange contrasts.

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Conversation

Boy Dogs

Boy dogs

One of the guys at the resort just got a dog and he was describing how it was all going. “Boy dog or girl dog?” I asked. “Boy,” he said. “Oh I love boy dogs,” I said, “but Christ are they ever a handful.” The new-dog man nodded knowingly. “They destroy virtually everything,” I said. “Tear shit apart, stop every five seconds to piss on poles or whatever, marking their territory, and they hump fucking anything, even the air. It’s kind of a bit much. It gets to a point where it’s sort of ridiculous. The expression on their faces when they’re doing it though, all their crazy instincts and little patterns. It’s like they can’t help it. And they’re kind of dumb sometimes, a bit dopey… But they’re so smart in other ways, and hilarious, and wonderful, they sort of get a free pass. You can’t not love them.” Everyone present nodded varying levels of assent and agreement. “Actually,” I remarked as an afterthought, “Boys are kind of like that too. They’re a mess. Totally clueless. Pissing everywhere, destroying things, and humping everything they see.” The swaggering lesbian seated next to me snorted, grinned, and leaned in. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and we made our glasses clink.

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Conversation

All That Jazz

Singapore

At Changi Airport again killing time because our flight which was supposed to leave at 7am has been massively delayed. We’re each of us in diverse states of confusion and collapse, because last night was the bridge party (very fun), we returned at midnight, packed up all our things, slept not more than two hours, woke at 330am, left the hotel at 430am, and arrived at the airport exactly on time. Then our flight was cancelled due to a volcano, and now our new flights don’t leave till 3pm.

Walking through the airport, we gazed with awe at an immense and delicately beautiful sculpture. Music on the eyes, we were mesmerized.

There were again all manner of delightful Asian kids bouncing around and being elaborately cute. It’s like they can’t help it. One little Asian girl was so precious, she hardly seemed real. “I should just snatch her up,” I said, “I mean, who would question it. Shut up and listen to your mum,” I said in a bossy voice down to my right, and mimed holding tightly the little hand of my new perfectly adorable stolen Asian child. Masia laughed.

Later at the coffee shop, I entertained the gang in an unruly fashion while they all tried to remain awake. For some reason despite total sleeplessness, I alone feel great. A little blonde porcelain doll of a child walked slowly past, holding fast to her mother’s hand. She turned slowmotion wrenchingly half around to gaze at me wide-eyed, an imploring expression upon her face. Kids often stare at me unblinking for days, I think it’s the make up, the eyebrows, the facial piercings, shoes, and outfits. The little Aryan girl stared continuously at me, transfixed. “Not gonna happen,” I said, “Too white. I only take Asian kids.” Masia stifled a giggle. “But thank you for your interest,” I added, while the white girl’s mother obliviously tugged her staring child along. Masia chortled and covered her face. Making Masia laugh is part of my job, so my morning’s work was going great.

In spelling and grammar news, the bar has been set so low, I get genuinely excited whenever someone gets “desert” and “dessert” and “lose” and “loose” right. Singapore has been really marvelous, it’s sad to already have to go. But further international adventures await us, the world is bright and beautiful and big. We’re coming through, Bali, and we’re coming for you!

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The Messenger

TroyboiI’m lying on my stomach upon an oversized couch in a darkened room with a little dog all snuggled into the diamond oval space created from vagina to crossed ankles between thighs and a slight bending of knees. There’s a quiet deep precarious joy felt from the warm small furry weight and heat that such a creature in such a position radiates, his tiny sighs and little rearrangings approach heartbreaking in their terrible levels of all that is vulnerable, diminutive, and sweet. Of course it’s very easy for me to dramatically enjoy such miniature moments and muted scenes as I’m so partial to dogs, I don’t really like all that many humans, if I had to choose between dogs and humans, I’d go with the dogs, I’m reading Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man while listening to music. I’m systematically going through all the Soundcloud pages for TroyBoi, Louis The ChildFlosstradamus, TsunanoOdeszaDJ Ruskee, Beau Young Prince, Tinie Tempah, and Sweater Beats, I’m scanning for tracks to potentially play in my sets for Australia, I’m only halfway through foraging the first of these, TroyBoi is so awesome, I’ve already chosen 15 of his songs and counting. Also I couldn’t help but notice that TroyBoi beyond the talent is muscular, handsome, black, and tattooed, I know these things shouldn’t matter, but they do.

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Death is Coming

Death is coming

Buraka Som Sistema is my favourite band right now. They’re so badass. Every time one of their tracks comes on, I put it immediately into my favourites folder. Whatever tracks don’t make the favourites folder cut, it’s not because the track sucked, it’s because my favourites folder is overrun with tracks by Buraka Som Sistema. The videos for their songs are also great, fast-paced dance graffiti pieces, fresh, dynamic, and vivid. This band and I are on the exact same page, I’d love to see them. They seem so far only to play shows in Europe and South America, but if they ever come to San Francisco and I can attend, I’m gonna cry. Then I’ll dance and clap my hands.

Speaking of clapping, I’m sorry, but any man that claps his hands while dancing is a homosexual. Especially if the claps are above the head. If the claps occur succinctly twice, and are to the side, then there’s no going back. Nothing against homosexuals of course, “some of my best friends” et cetera. Next, it must be said, anything you do, someone will always be able to do it better, and that person invariably will be black, homosexual, Asian, or a Jew. Life on earth is enormously enriched by members of these four groups.

Anyway I wouldn’t ever want to live in a world that was purely homogenous, rigidly straight, and frighteningly white. Talk about purgatory, nightmarish, and wrong. Like sitting endlessly for hours in secondary screening at the American border facing off with a bunch of sour-faced stiff-spined border agents and customs officers, most of whom are as stupid as they are slow and smug. You’re left to do your best to conceal your irritation, you can never let a stupid person know that you think they’re stupid, because then you’re fucked.

More artists I must recommend include Louis the Child, Elliphant, Tarrus Riley, Damian Marley, Felix Laband, Shaggy, and DJ DSLill.Gates for the record is really wonderful too, he’s currently next to me writing a song. I am working on a dj set for my upcoming show in Australia, it’s as challenging eclectic tough as they come, Night Nurse gonna sound the alarm. We’re still in Tel Aviv, and we’re happy, healthy, and well. Before working, we enjoyed a very good stand up performance by Simon Amstell.

Everything is a choice between fear and love, and death is coming. Fear or love, my friends, at every moment, you must decide. Death is coming, so choose love.

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The Main Reason

The main reason I’m not an alcoholic is I’m too negligent, even with my drinks. I’m all like “oh” whenever I come across a drink that I poured and misplaced days ago and forgot to finish. This too is another reason it’s probably good I don’t have kids. I’d be all “whoops” and “shit” whenever I saw one of them languishing somewhere and was reminded I ever had them. Plus I’d likely never remember their motherfucking birthdays or even their goddamned names. If they were dogs though I’d remember everything. There’s just something about dogs that effortlessly captures the whole of my heart and my attention. I think about them even when there’s none around and when I see one, I fall into fits of baby talk and playfulness and coochy cooing delights, regardless of who they belong to, what they look like, and the fact that they’re not mine. Dogs. I wonder why I love them so much.

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Secretly Texan

Whiling my life away at Dallas International Airport killing time at a restaurant bar and waiting for a flight that’s three hours delayed. On the wall is a large framed portrait of J.R. Ewing. This amuses me because a) this is a reality and b) I recognize him. I guess though that’s what happens when one of your nighttime soap opera reruns addicted stepmothers used the television in your formative years as a stand-in for parenting. Thank God for my previous television-as-parent care provider then. His viewing menu consisted solely of watching and rewatching all the greatest goals and moments of World Cup matches and exclaiming and explaining to me the essence of the greatness even though his passion-voiced wide-eyed gibberish meant likely to me not hugely a lot as I was by that point little more than teething. Said other parent also had a relentless viewing interest in the Japanese animation classic Akira, touchingly terrible Thai horror efforts and every deathless beautiful film that Bruce Lee ever graced and starred in. But back to J.R., interestingly, earlier, a friend managed to tap into the “secretly Texan” vibe apparently woven into the very fabric of my nature and being. Let’s hope Maradona, Der Kaiser, Platini, Messi, The Black Panther and Bruce Lee managed to save the rest and best of me.

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I Thought Being

I thought being on a bus and on the road with Husband would be kind of grueling and gnarly but actually it’s been very snazzy and a lot of fun. The best thing though is that we’re together and curling up tightly nightly in our Japanese capsule hotel like bunk is all cuteness and love. Spooning is mandatory for it to work. Shows have been unignorably interesting, the bass every time Excision takes the stage is so staggering and excessive, it startles and deranges my whole body and my mind every time. “I have never heard bass this loud before ever in my life” is something you hear spoken between persons at shows at least ten times. The others on the tour are good young men, entertaining and sweet each in their singular ways, everything so far has been really great. Except last night. One of the Dirty Phonics boys slipped and smashed his teeth in. Spent the rest of the evening in Emergency and will need some fairly serious dental surgery. Very unfortunate, no matter how sort of rock n roll and badass the broken teeth look. Now it’s sunny and hot and a brand new day, we’re at an amazing vegan organic place eating incredible food, this town we’re in is subtitled the San Francisco of the South and it shows. Tastes delicious, good fuel for further and more. See you out there.

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My Heart Beats Anew

Fortunate

We just enjoyed a nice Chinese vegetarian lunch at a well-reviewed place. Properly fed and sufficiently satisfied, I opened my fortune cookie and there was no fortune inside! How unfortunate! I was so stricken the kind owner came running at me with a little plate teeming with much more fortunate cookies. After reading a couple confections containing cordial comforts and reassuring remarks, I relaxed. My heart beats anew.

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But What is Art

But What is Art

What my hair was like in 2004. Yes that’s a thousand million long black cables and wires and headphones and cords which didn’t nightly make for the world’s most untroubled sleeping. Truthfully it was like snuggling my head into a plane crash and having many jagged metal parts poke into my brain. Think the look besides being pretty original and totally cool was meant to let everyone know how committed I was to technology and to sound, and how uniquely in love I was with The Music. I’ve no idea how long I made this look work. Surely the unbelievably terrible sleeps I enjoyed during that time put finally a stop to things. Kids right. But what is art if you don’t suffer for it a little bit.

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No Matter What

Wifi should be free and jackable everywhere. Cell phones should have consistent reception and be the same rate for use no matter where you are. Bags, purses, suitcases and shoulder bags should be well-designed, attractive and comfortable. Public bathrooms should be Godlike in spotlessness. People should smile only when they mean it. Shoes should stay dry no matter what. Religion shouldn’t fuck people’s brains up, music should be memorable, art should be transcendent, friends should be fantastic, love should be luminous, life should not be hard!

This is from a spastic email I hectically wrote to Dylan, once I could find some wifi that would successfully properly allow me by international use of my mobile phone to finally freely send it. Everything now is fine, for those of you who were “worried.” For everyone else, shit still sucks. Kidding. Life is awesome, no motherfucking matter what.

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Not For Boys

During the physical activity section of our day yesterday, I ran very hard with great skillfulness and speed along our route with many hills to prove to ill.Gates and Bassnectar how strong and fast and awesome I am. I left everyone smoothly in the dust but managed also to fairly seriously fuck up the muscles in my calves. Now I’m hobbling around the house like a 90 year old cripple feeling quietly sorry for myself. Moral of the story: Ladies. Don’t show off. Especially not for boys.

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I Need You to be Happy

Happiness

“Okay so he’s always late, often ignores you, is sometimes mean to you, doesn’t explain himself, doesn’t put the seat down, doesn’t take his shoes off when he enters your home and his towels don’t at all smell good. My only suggestion is that you flee.”

“But I really like him.”

“Too bad.”

“What if I love him?”

“You don’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“You don’t.”

“He texted me a picture of his cock.”

“So how was it.”

“Gorgeous.”

“You won’t think it’s so gorgeous when you’re falling into the toilet the next time you pee. Or when you think about the towels he uses when it’s penis cleaning time. If his daily schedule includes such a delicately particular designated time.”

“Why are you being so hard. Don’t you like him?”

“I don’t know him so I can’t say.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Look babe. Either listen to me or don’t. Just don’t come running to me later drenched in tears only to tell me I was right. I don’ t need to be right, I need you to be happy. And I need not to have to repeat myself with every next Meager Possibility Man. Not that I mind even though I kinda do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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If There Was an Emoticon

Your use of epithet strongly suggests that you missed your calling as a motivational speaker.

I’ve missed many callings. Instead I warm my ass with pensive luxuriousness lying around on my belly on a deck divan in the sunshine drinking mimosas, reading books and texting. And cursing iPads for forcing me back into infancy with plodding and ineffectual experiences like two-fingered typing.

Such a rough existence you lead… just another Californiasian trophy wife on slow roast in the oven of life.

If there was an emoticon for ‘Fuck you’ I’d send it.

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Funeral

Sleep

Alice said there were a lot of people at the funeral, too many to count. “Jeez,” I said to Dylan, “probably like 2 people would come to my funeral. Even you, you’d make a big stink. Sigh and complain, grumble about having to drag yourself away from the studio.” Dylan, his eyes dim with weed, softly chuckled. Then he said, “That’s not true. I’d be devastated.” And we laughed about how at Dylan’s funeral, all these young aspiring producers would gather around the coffin making it rain demo cds, the minister would be replaced by a couple of listless go-go dancers and a belligerent MC.

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